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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824513">Cinders of Fires Past</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyTunaSandwich/pseuds/UglyTunaSandwich'>UglyTunaSandwich</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lovely Dreams and Sweet Things [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crushes, Domesticity, Drinking, Established Relationship, Gay Panic, Getting Together, LITERALLY, LMFAOOOOO, Lit as fuck, M/M, Pining, cause like fire and shit, fuck i dont have a title, how ya like that title huh?, i forgot about that one lol, i honestly dont know what happens in this chapter im so sorry, idk what to fucking tag this, like in the "you're so whipped lol" type of way ya know, like that's not me on a regular basis fhaofhodis, miya twins stuff cause i love the miya twins lol, oh shit how could i forget, oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck, okay im gonna stop playing in the tags and work on a summary, soft, that's a lil gay bro ngl, uhhhh, ummmm, whipped but not sexually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:15:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyTunaSandwich/pseuds/UglyTunaSandwich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When fires die and flames burn out, you can still relight them with the smallest of sparks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lovely Dreams and Sweet Things [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cinders of Fires Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ayooooo what's up! part two and stuff. this had me feeling soft af</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Are you sure, Kiyoomi-kun?” Tendou gingerly draped the man’s suit jacket over his shoulders. His cheeks still warm from the previous events. Sakusa wasted no time getting cleaned up, as comfortably as he could anyway, and getting ready to leave. He was ready for a shower and wanted to be home more than anything. First to get properly cleaned, and next to fuck the life out of Atsumu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” The weakness in his knees begged to differ, but he did his best to keep up the facade. “I’d just feel most comfortable at home.” Tendou gave him a knowing grin. It really did creep him out on how this guy could just </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess </span>
  </em>
  <span>what was going on. Sakusa was sure that he was the first case of unconfirmed telepathy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“While you’re getting ‘comfortable at home,’ I’ll be getting comfortable as well,” he smirked, wrapping an arm around a now dressed Wakatoshi. The man looked down at him with a small glint in his eye. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Thanks to you, I have to work in a wheelchair.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa snorted. “Well...um…” What were the right words for this? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, thank you for letting me fuck your boyfriend? I’ll never do this again but thank you for the opportunity? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn’t want to set expectations that this would be a regular occurrence, but wanted to show...gratitude? He didn’t know, he just didn’t wanna leave without giving a proper goodbye. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Kiyoomi-kun, don’t sweat it. Have a good night, okay?” Tendou gave a tender smile, one not just in an attempt to make him </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>like it was okay. It was just okay. Sometimes, he wondered how it felt to be with someone who could seemingly pick up on the smallest hint of hesitation, insecurity, of emotion in general. But in moments like these, when words wouldn’t come, he could puzzle together why someone would like that. The shy, silent nature of Wakatoshi fit perfectly together like two pieces made for the other. It really was something to marvel at. They were a wonderful couple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” A genuine statement addressing more than what words could say. He turned away and got in his car, giving one last wave to the couple before pulling away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drive home was fine. Walking into their shared home? Fine. As soon as the heat of the shower his knees buckled, suddenly unable to bear the weight it once could. After the taking the longest, and most careful, shower of his life, he looked into their shared full-body mirror. He turned around, doing as much of a 360 as he could, looking at the various bruises left behind. He wasn’t the only one who left his mark. He winced as he tried to get the right angle on his thighs, seeing just enough to make out two distinct handprints. The bruising was the deepest where the man’s fingertips pressed into him as he gripped him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Changing into pajamas and making a snail’s pace to the bed, he carefully got under the covers next to Atsumu, who smelt faintly of sake and pine. The blonde turned around in bed to face him, the drowsiness of the night still overtaking him as he spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey Omi, where were you?” he yawned, eyes still shut and barely awake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was...out,” he hesitated, not sure if now was the right time to tell him. Maybe Atsumu meant it all as a joke because he assumed Sakusa would never actually go through with it. Wait, did he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheat</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Did he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheat on Atsumu</span>
  </em>
  <span>? No, he gave permission. They said. That was the rule, they-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Out doin’ what Omi Omi?” His voice came low and gentle. He was already drifting back off to sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ushijima Wakatoshi.” He held his breath, waiting for whatever answer came. Atsumu had the right to break up with him. Of course he did. He was a cheater. Cheater cheater. He might as well start working on breaking the lease to take him off. He’d help him find a place. He’d even pay the first few month’s rent to make up for it. So gross. How could he? On </span>
  <em>
    <span>Atsumu</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his lo-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay. Did you have fun?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um...yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then that’s fine by me.” He nuzzled into his neck, letting the sleep overtake him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did he really just get away with that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa worked on making omurice that morning, one of the few simple dishes he was trusted with. He hummed to himself, trying to soothe the aches and pains he now felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Note to self, </span>
  </em>
  <span>definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not doing </span>
  </em>
  <span>that </span>
  <em>
    <span>again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“USHIJIMA?!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The loud yell almost made him drop the pan as he slid the dish to the plate. “Why are you yelling, it’s eight in the morning, Miya,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“YOU slept with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ushijima</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He rushed towards the kitchen from the bedroom door. “By the way, breakfast looks really good, Omi Omi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...thanks.” He wasn’t ready for the emotional rollercoaster that was Miya Atsumu, so he waited patiently just to see where he would take him next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After taking an indulgent bite, and being sure to </span>
  <em>
    <span>swallow</span>
  </em>
  <span> first as he was often told, Atsumu piped up again. This time at a more normal and acceptable volume. “Why’d ya do that for? Wait! You actually took it seriously!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa’s heart nearly fractured one of his ribs as its great escape out of his chest. Atsumu was going to leave him. He knew it. Maybe if he argued hard enough and proved why the relationship was still salvageable he’d stay. Yea. Wai, Atsumu deserved better than tha-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how was it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huh? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Huh?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Tsumu....I’m not understanding…” He looked to his boyfriend, eyes searching for Miya Atsumu because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez, if ya don’t wanna talk about it, s’fine,” Atsumu chuckled, hands raised in defeat. “Did ya like it at least?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um...it was...fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you mad?” He finally took his hand off the pan and leaned on the kitchen counter, arms crossed in–well</span>
  <em>
    <span> confusion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Atsumu started, taking yet another bite, “we agreed, didn’t we? If the opportunity came up, ya know.” He shrugged. “Yers just came up first is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa scoffed, rolling his eyes as he began clearing the cooking materials. “Yeah, okay,” he said under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is that supposed ta mean, eh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh nothing…” he sang, holding in a genuine giggle. “Just, you said </span>
  <em>
    <span>first </span>
  </em>
  <span>is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yea, cause I’m gettin’ mine next Omi, what’re ya gettin’ at?” He crossed his arms, cheeks puffed out in a pout. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God he’s so cute. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa could just drag him to bed and take him right now. That would be if his body weren’t so damn sore. “Okay,” he set the sponge down to face him, “for starters how would you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>find</span>
  </em>
  <span> him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We live in the same prefecture, </span>
  <em>
    <span>duh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you spoke with him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is that rele-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do to convince him to sleep with you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last question left him limp, unable to find a rebuttal. “Well how did ya get </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ushijima </span>
  </em>
  <span>ta sleep with ya since ya know everythin’, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Diversion, but I’ll indulge. Simple, he wanted to sleep with me as well, and we did. End of story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, pause.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>End, Miya</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu chuckled, ready to take on the challenge today. “Ya know ya only call me ‘Miya’ when yer losin’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha-</span>
  <em>
    <span>losing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t even hide it, Omi! Look at yer ears!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unbeknownst to Sakusa, his ears already betrayed him long ago, though now he could feel the heat spread across his face. Sighing in defeat, he decided to explain it the best he could. “So you remember how you said he had a boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tendou, right? That annoying bastard-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t talk about him like that,” he warned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, didn’t know you two were close like that. His blocks were just so damn annoying, ya know? I’d be pullin’ my best stunts and he’d just-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guess! Exactly! So there I am, at the event, right? And who walks up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tendou!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ushijima, please try to keep up,” he deadpanned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> Omi Omi, I’m not a mind reader ya know. Can I eat this before it gets cold,” he asked, pointing to the poor meal sitting by its lonesome. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. Let’s go sit at the table.” They made their way over, Atsumu taking note of the bruises he could see as Sakusa stretched, getting out those last few morning kinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So Ushiwaka shows up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right! And we’re...managing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were shittin’ yer pants.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa threw him a glare, but didn’t challenge the accurate statement. “Anyway, we were having a polite conversation when Tendou comes over and just starts–did you want something to drink with that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeth pleathe,” he mumbled through full cheeks. Sakusa got up to get him a cup of orange juice, refilling his own mug with black coffee, keeping it rather simple this morning. It was the only simple thing that grounded him as he tried to wrap his around the conversation he was having right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, let me get this straight,” he began after taking a much needed swig. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hehe, straight,” Atsumu giggled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a child.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And yer datin’ me, so what does that say about you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa did his best to look disgusted, it was hard when Atsumu just looked so damn cute. His hair did its best attempt at social distancing as every strand went every which way. His eyes were still a little hazy from lingering drowsiness. His cheeks looked especially squishy this morning. “You have rice on your face.” He reached over to swipe the stray grains with his thumb, Atsumu humming into the touch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you were serious about all of it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>All </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it?” It was just so perplexing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu chewed thoughtfully, wanting to choose the right words. He was grateful that he was a setter. The close attention he had to pay to his spikers’ conditions, their moods, their preferences, their weaknesses; it all helped in understanding his boyfriend. He’d had his suspicions when Sakusa first began explaining it. Now he was sure that the hesitation and fear he thought ghosted the air was real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu reached across the small distance between them, giving a light squeeze on his hand, ironically easing the tension. “Hey, I wouldn’t joke about somethin’ like that. I’m just surprised is all.” He gave a crooked, yet reassuring smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally calming down, Sakusa relayed the entire experience. The nervousness he felt about agreeing. How casual they were regarding the whole thing. The way being watched made him feel, his ears reddening when we remembered what he thought in the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu missed nothing. “Hey Omi, was there something ya wanted to tell me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And so I’m– what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I dunno Omi, I feel like yer holdin’ back…” His voice was gentle, but just on the verge of teasing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he argued, turning his head to the side as if that could hide the blush forming across his cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omiii.” Atsumu’s voice was dangerously low and sultry.Ya were thinkin’ about me, weren’t ya?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he mumbled, his deepening color giving him away. He tried desperately to have a sip of coffee through shaky hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span>! My my, Omi Omi, who knew you were such a pervert…” He snickered like the middle schooler he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa, deciding that he’d had enough for that day (despite it being eight in the morning) finished off his coffee and walked towards the sink to wash it. Atsumu gobbled down the rest of his food to go and join him. Sakusa grabbed his dishes out of habit and added them to the small pile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” this walking terror began, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>were ya thinkin’ ‘bout?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did ya want me to be there ta take care of ya too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu stepped behind him, gently wrapping his arms around his waist to meet in the front. One hand reached under his shirt to feel his abdomen, and one to his hip. He could feel the upraised, tender skin from where the bruises made their homes. Sakusa winced at even the smallest touches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or,” his voice came out, almost melting Sakusa into a puddle, “did ya want me ta watch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa stiffened for the briefest of moments before resuming the dishes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. Though his ass did ever so slightly press itself into Atsumu’s growing erection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what ya wanted, Omi?” The hand on his hip began playing with Sakusa’s waistband. “Ya wanted ta give me a show?” He got a soft moan when he reached into his sweatpants, following the happiest of trails. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa was just short of grinding into him properly now, squeezing all the soap and water left out of an innocent sponge. If he could do it all over again, he’d’ve picked up Atsumu and brought him over. Though this, just the confirmation that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya know,” he continued, lightly plucking at a neglected nipple, “when Kita-san–” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>If</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” his voice coming out just stable enough to knock him down a peg. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>When</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he pinched now, winning a deep groan, “Kita-san comes ‘round, I’ll watch ya, Omi. I’ll watch how he tears ya apart.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dishes were done, much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weeks passed uneventfully. Life wnt on, much to Sakusa’s surprise. Atsumu never brought it up or spoke on it unless Sakusa did. He mentally kicked himself in the ass for thinking things would change. The two of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>get a proper health check to be safe, thanks to Sakusa’s uncharacteristic impulsivity. Atsumu thankfully spared him with the jests. As much as someone like Atsumu could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh really? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa sat on their back patio, working on his newest painting project. He was diving into landscapes, usually leaning towards stills and portraits. The hardest part was always the lighting for him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How in the hell were people creating depth?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He did his best to find out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu was inside, talking obnoxiously loud on the phone. He was tasked with making lunch for the two of them. They decided to keep the glass door open, separating the bugs and critters using a screen door. Though Sakusa was sure that even if properly shut, the door couldn’t contain his booming voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a nice day out, slightly cool to contrast with the usually overwhelming sun. Sakusa mixed a few greens for the mountainside as he listened to Atsumu; not that he had a choice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yea, we’re totally down to come!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi? Nah, I didn’t ask him yet, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh really?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yea, he’s been in such a good mood lately, so I think he’ll say yea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh </span>
  </em>
  <span>really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa hadn’t cared if they were planning a meet with one of his favorite volleyball idols, there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>no way </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was agreeing to whatever had to say next. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I mean the </span>
  </em>
  <span>nerve</span>
  <em>
    <span> of some people. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Omi!” he called, making his way towards their deck, grinning like he just won a special edition Youkai Watch figurine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did ya wanna–” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whaaat</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Ya didn't even hear what I had to say!” He stepped outside, closing the screen door behind him. If something got in the house he’d never hear the end of it. All he needed was the once.  “Whatcha paintin’?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Landscapes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anywhere in particular?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm...no. Just practicing lighting and greens.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a while, Atsumu admiring the way his wrists delicately angled themselves at each stroke.It was like he yielded a wand that created magic as the image formed on the canvas. He was most beautiful like this. There was intense concentration, this was still Omi, no less. But he seemed at peace. He looked happy. Atsumu wasn’t lying when he said that Sakusa seemed like he was in a good mood. After a wonderful morning and the confirmation that no, Atsumu wasn’t going to leave him, he seemed lighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do ya–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whined softly, not wanting to get loud and pull Sakusa out of the zone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because you said I’d go without asking me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you would like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what is it?” He turned his head so that they were face to face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So me and–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care,” he said flatly, doing an abouface and returning this piece. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>Omiii!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he complained, “ya didn’t even listen to me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I guess lessons were learned today.” He leaned back on his stool to get a full picture on what he’d done so far. “How does it look?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu squinted as he assessed the image. “Uhh...you could use a lighter green over there cause that’s where the light’s hittin’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking the same.” Sakusa began mixing globs of white and green paint, deciding to add a hint of yellow towards the end. “But like I said, I’m not going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if it was to meet Ma?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t know that,” he huffed, crossing his arms and standing in false triumph. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not. You know how I know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cause she would’ve called me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wha–she–no. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yer lyin’!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa giggled, drinking in the blubbering mess Atsumu had become. “You can check our messages and call history if you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>HUH? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>yer lyin’ straight through yer teeth. Ma doesn’t ‘message.’ She doesn’t know how!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah geez, was it someone else who told me ‘Good mornin’ Omi-chan, I love you’?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu dashed back inside, going to their bedside where Sakusa’s phone was charging and unlocking it with face ID. It didn’t take more than  thirty seconds to find the message.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ohayou Omichan. Daisuki da yo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No! Lies!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He navigated through Sakusa’s call history. There it was, a call from yesterday at 4:02 p.m. It lasted…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya were on the phone with </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ma for </span>
  <em>
    <span>two hours?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re being loud,” he said blandly, never looking away from the canvas. He knew that whatever expression Atsumu was wearing would send him into a fit of laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>yours!</span>
  </em>
  <span> What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> were you two even talkin’ about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I keep all my conversations confidential,” he hummed. Maybe he’ll add flowers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya told me all that stuff Ushijima Big Dick and Tendou did you ya can’t tell me a convo ya had with </span>
  <em>
    <span>my own Ma</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa’s were set aflame, but he’s not losing. Not here. “Well if it bothers you so much, why don’t you tell her to stop talking to her dear Omi-chan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could feel Atsumu’s eyes on him, burning with anger. After a few puffs of rage, he stomped back inside. “AAARRRGGHHH!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, tell me when you’re going so I can catch up on Kimetsu No Yaiba,” Sakusa called out, unperturbed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The izakaya they agreed on was closer to his hometown, not too far from a well-known rice farm. Atsumu took a short shinkansen trip to the area. His memory would serve him well for the rest of the way. Sakusa kept the car in case he had to “peel him off the floor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take him long to find the spot. A nice “hole in the wall,” as Aran put it. He could hear the commotion from outside, its volume growing once he stepped in. It was full, </span>
  <em>
    <span>packed</span>
  </em>
  <span> even, with a few sights to see. Older men chatting in the corner, a few tables that were more just short of screaming matches, even a quartet singing too many keys off to be anywhere near professional.  Taking his time to carefully inspect each table, he spotted Gin’s light hair at the most quiet one (in comparison).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s ‘Tsumu!” Gin announced. “Hey, we’re here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think he can see us, Gin,” Aran laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Can he though?</span>
  </em>
  <span> We don’t want our poor kouhai getting lost,” Akagi putted. “Gin, let’s do a signalling beacon to guide him!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calling out to Miya Atsumu!” they yelled, moving their arms as if they were guiding a plane. “This is your place to land!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re in a public restaurant.” A small, yet commanding voice scolded them. A flurry of “Sorry Kita-san’s” was all to follow. “Hi Atsumu-kun,” he greeted as Atsumu finally reached them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geez, everyone really </span>
  </em>
  <span>is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In Atsumu’s opinion, “everyone” meant all the players in the starting lineup. None of the other scrubs deserved to be here anyway. There was the exception of their libero, for obvious reasons. And Kita-san, of course. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yer late, scrub.” His brother was always the best hellos. He had his arm wrapped around their old middle blocker, currently on his phone and probably starting timeline discourse on Twitter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Glad ta see ya too,” he shot back. “And I’m not late if no one’s eatin’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one’s eatin cause yer late ya filthy pig. Now sit yer ass down so we can order!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fine!” He raised his hands in defeat and sat in the nearest empty seat in the booth, one that seemingly wasn’t there before. “Geez, Suna, can you believe the </span>
  <em>
    <span>nerve</span>
  </em>
  <span> of some peo-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk to me,” he cut off, never looking up from his phone. “Osamu’s right and he should say it. “</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww, I love you baby,” Osamu cooed, nuzzling into his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too, baby.” Suna turned his head to kiss Osamu’s cheek. “When we get home I’m gonna–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So let’s look at the menu!” Aran did his best to drown out any possible traumatizing images that could come about at the end of that sentence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu looked down in front of him to be met with table. “”Hey uh, can I borrow–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can share.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked over to meet amber eyes accented by ombre bangs. He thought he saw the quirk at the end of his lip fighting a small smile, but that could’ve been his imagination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, th-thanks, Kita-san.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Voice level. We’re calm. Cool. Collected. Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita slid the menu in between them so Atsumu could see. All he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> see was the tender, yet calloused hands from labour pointing at the various menu items. Hands tanned from sun exposure, connected to thick wrists and quite nice forearms. As  he just kept going, he saw a bicep slightly flexing with every move. Kita’s muscles were soft. Different from the over-chiseled ones from excessive training, but gradually molded by consistent labour. Just like him, they seemed more genuine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As his gaze traveled up his arm he–</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Atsumu turned away, making a futile attempt at hiding the color that danced across his face and neck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now you look like a pervert, you– </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha, guess that’s a no on the okonomiyaki,” Kita softly chuckled. “Was there something else you wanted?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Course he was askin’ about the food ya idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Nothin’ in particular. Okonomiyaki’s fine, I don’t mind,” he said, looking at the menu now, but shying away from any more eye contact. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu-kun, do you have a fever?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu turned to him, seeing a genuine look of concern. “Oh no it’s just...lights and–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just pullin’ yer tail!” Kita laughed. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>laughed. He nudged Atsumu with his elbow. “Loosen up a little, will ya? If anyone was gonna be the troublemaker, I thought it’d be you and not your brother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita cocked his head to the side to direct him towards the disaster happening across the table. Osamu and Suna were whispering in each other’s ears. One hand wrapped around and visible on the table– the other probably somewhere Atsumu didn’t want to think about. Suna must’ve said something particularly suggestive because Atsumu could see the red flaring in his twin’s neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kono yarou</span>
  </em>
  <span>–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S’fine. Let them have this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But Kita-san–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kita is fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu had to fight a blush of his own. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kita</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right in the middle of the restaurant. In front of </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita chuckled before responding with “They haven’t seen each other in a while. Think about the last time EJP was in town.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita was right. Unlike Atsumu, Osamu didn’t play volleyball, he ran a restaurant of his own. Much less did he have the luxury of playing on the same team as his partner. Sakusa and him were so attached at this point, it would be like getting a puppy at an adoption center and being told that the two came together. Do not separate. He couldn’t imagine being apart from Sakusa for days, months even. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the revelation, he slumped back into the booth, wanting to take back the statement. He felt like it made him look like an asshole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Kita assured. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waiter came to take their orders and to remove the menus. Atsumu went to grab theirs when Kita reached over him, his other hand lightly grazing Atsumu’s thigh to keep steady. The skin beneath the fabric burned there. If he wasn’t mistaken, Kita had even lingered a bit longer than necessary, finally moving his body, but not the fingertips that made contact. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry, did I bump ya?” he asked innocently, now playing with his fingers above the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...no. No, yer fine.” Atsumu, however, was most definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Awkward silence filled the large cafe as the waiter came back with a few pitchers of beer and a few empty mugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yea, now </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span> is a way to start!” Akagi reached over to one of the pitchers and began pouring his fill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like the way you think,” Gin agreed, placing his mug in front of Akagi.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez, who the hell even ordered all this,” Atsumu inquired, still not missing a beat to fill his own drink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kita, who else?” Aran took a large swig before clapping him on the back. “Everyone say thanks to Kita-senpai!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Kita-senpai!” shook their booth as their booming voices became one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, calm down,” is what he said, but a full smile graced his lips. “You’re all very welcome.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waiter came back with a bottle of warm sake. Atsumu extended an eager hand. “Ah, don’t mind if I– ah! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He soothed the hand that was slapped by Suna. “The hell was that fer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We paid for this ourselves, keep your filthy hands off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Samu, yer gonna let’em talk to yer brother that way?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m an only child.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You bastard!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kita-san, would you like some,” Suna offered, pointing the lip of the bottle in his direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mind if I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But Kita–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No sake for trash pits still in love with their high school captains,” Suna said dully as he poured Kita a small glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See babe, I told you he wouldn’t deny it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told ya before, Rin. One time he had a crush on this girl from elementary, all the way through middle school. He–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will ya quit that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gin leaned over to Akagi. “What are we talking about?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Tsumu’s unrequited love for Kita-san.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not unrequited!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh so you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>love him,” Suna added slyly, taking a sip of his sake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Atsumu wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. </span><em><span>YES! Wait, yes?</span></em> <em><span>No. </span></em><span>He’s got Omi Omi, and Omi Omi is enough. Omi’s even too much at times. He’s got Omi. But something always kind of bothered him at the back of his mind regarding this whole “Kita situation.” While Osamu pined quietly, his loves kept close in the whispers of his heart, Atsumu loved loudly. Boldly, openly. He was never one to shy away from talking about how great his crush was to everyone who would listen, even from young. Even with that one girl in middle school. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did ya see what she did taday? It was amazin’! </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yer just jealous cause they won’t give ya tips cause I’m their favorite. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s the best one on this team and don’t ya forget it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Years of listening to Atsumu regularly expose himself just to be rejected led Osamu to his quiet kind of love. The love that shared lunch together. The love that asked to study together after a day’s classes. One that put away the equipment together after practice, and eventually grew to one that could be boldly claimed day after day in his partner’s arms. Albeit, even if it was in the middle of a public restaurant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet something that was always amusing was his way of expressing that to the object of his affection. While he would loudly brag about his crush oh so expertly </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathed </span>
  </em>
  <span> better than any of these class act </span>
  <em>
    <span>losers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, singing any type of praise in their presence proved impossible for him. The brazen, loud bastard turned meek every time they so much as looked his way. His mouth would snap shut faster than you could say jan ken pon. It was embarrassing, really. Even a little sad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d pout for days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened this time,” Osamu would cave, asking after he’d been silent for days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It always started with that obnoxious sigh he did before he described something simultaneously asinine and mundane. “Hara-chan, told Terasaka that his drawing was the best,” he said, in his “feel bad fer me I’m really going through it right now” voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu was...tired. “And this was a problem </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Didn’t she say yours was fantastic?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Terasaka’s is </span>
  <em>
    <span>the best.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Which means that mine is objectively </span>
  <em>
    <span>not the best</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and by default </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> than that loser’s! Osamu, can’t you see?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates me</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And in moments like these, Osamu always wondered why he went back on deciding to consume him in the womb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The with Kita. Atsumu got a new crush, he yelled about it to anyone and everyone who would listen, and then he’d get rejected; all leading up to Osamu and various circles of friends to pick up the pieces. Mostly Osamu, the only one who’d ever stayed by his side. After the many, many, </span>
  <em>
    <span>many </span>
  </em>
  <span>heartaches and heartbreaks and grievances. Though he’d clown Atsumu about every new “one,” he was always by his side. Whether it was listening to him talk through it, buying him an ice pop while they walked home together in silence, or sending him a platter of onigiri filled with fatty tuna. Through this process, Osamu found himself falling out of love with...well, love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching his brother get his heart broken over and over again was scary. When he was younger, Osamu wondered how something meant to be so good caused so much pain. As he got older, he realized that love itself was never the issue, it was not having someone reciprocate that love. That same type of love, whether platonic or romantic. To have someone not love you back is the worst pain. So when he got a crush on Suna Rintarou, he was terrified. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first it was small. The warm fuzzies, all the usual crap. He’d ignore it until it went away, just like every other one. It got harder the more they played together, practiced together, even the one class they shared was setting him up to fall for the middle blocker. Suna’s rare smiles, his snarky remarks that only Osamu could hear, his hopes, his dreams. They all wrapped themselves around his ankle and sank him deeper into all that was Suna Rintarou. It was exciting. It was petrifying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What did he do? Go up to him and confess like his brother? What if he was conflating it? What if none of it was really there? What if the string he felt he was being dragged along on was connected to his other hand, guiding him in a loop of false hope and false promises? Was he ready for that kind of heartbreak? Was he ready for that kind of pain? The question that Osamu was most afraid to get the answer for, and even more afraid to ask, was what if he liked him back?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he stewed. And he stewed. And he stewed some more. His quiet nature turned sour, as he did his best to deal with the havoc that was wreaked within the confines of his heart. Dealing with a blade that was turned in onto himself. After a particularly bad practice, it was Atsumu who yelled at him, calling him useless after one too many missed spikes. His words were fierce, but his eyes were soft, pleading with his brother to tell him what was wrong. Osamu simply turned away and was sat out of practice by the coach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While taking care of the equipment, Suna stopped him in the utility closet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...Suna, yer kinda in my–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu answered, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whaaat</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” A delayed reaction brought on by grief. “What do ya mean by that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suna rolled his eyes and stepped closer to what would become his idiot, </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot </span>
  </em>
  <span>boyfriend. “I mean I wanna hold your hand and go on dates and do cute shit together. And maybe kiss you sometimes, too.” He mumbled a bit towards the end, looking away as his cheeks adopted a rosy color.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I said.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But...but </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked myself the same thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Do ya like me or not, here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suna sighed, making eye contact once again. “Unfortunately, I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At least make it sound like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I already told you my piece, Miya. The question is, do you like me back?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Getting over his initial shock, he was just...stunned. Suna liked him back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Suna liked him back.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was elated, over the moon, on cloud nine, all those cheesy lovey phrases that you could think of. But most of all, he felt relieved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So nothing was more frustrating than watching his brother act like, well </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thing is, even if Atsumu had no chance. He meant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>chance. Like, not a snowball’s chance in hell in July. Even if he was on a negative scale of opportunity, he’d always at least get everything off his chest. With Kita, Osamu, hell, everyone honestly believed that maybe, there was a small possibility that Atsumu </span>
  <em>
    <span>had the chance. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yet during Kita’s graduation year, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, that’s when Atsumu fell silent. There was no confession, no letter, no buttons being offered. Things were left unfinished and unsaid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu blushed furiously at the way Suna declared his “unrequited love.” He didn’t “unrequite” </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was times like these that he wanted to yell to the heavens about his wonderful, sweet, prickly, people averse Kiyoomi. But if the few camera flashes to his right said anything, he didn’t need to be the talk of the timeline for the next week. And considering his fans, who knew when they would drop the whole situation. He could see the tag now: AtsuOmi. He shuddered at the thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita, the wonderful senpai he was, put an end to the whole affair. “Alright, alright, I think he’s had enough. Look at him, he’s gonna pass out.” Kita did his best to stifle the chuckle in his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone backed off for the most part, not without a few comments on “Prince Kita-san in shining armour,” and so on. It didn’t take long for them to splinter off back into their smaller groups and continue previous conversations. Atsumu let out a sigh of relief when everyone finally settled, silently thanking Kita with a look. The soft nod he did was enough to send Atsumu over the edge if he didn’t just recover from the previous verbal beating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After wringing his hands for a while and being sure to observe </span>
  <em>
    <span>every </span>
  </em>
  <span>piece of interior design, he heard a soft “So” coming from his left. “K-Kita-san, did ya say somethin’?” Old habits die hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, was just wonderin’ how things are with you. I see you continued volleyball.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yea.” Atsumu let his shoulders relax, turning his body to face the man. He looked the same yet...different. He looked more mature, if that even made sense. He was always sure that Kita was just born forty and had really great skin to show for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s volleyball.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course it is, ya dumb, idiot,stupid head. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I really like and uh, I meant what I said. I wanna be someone ya can brag ta yer grandkids about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita giggled softly. “I don’t know about grandkids just yet, but I know I’m proud of you. I really am.” His face became soft, eyes full of pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Atsumu were still in high school, he’d spontaneously combust on the spot. But he’s an adult now. He can schedule his combusting for later. “Thank you, Kita-san, I really ‘preciate it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You so funny, even after all these years, I’m still Kita-san or Kita-senpai to you.” He looked off into a space Atsumu couldn’t see. “Sometimes, I just wanna be Kita. If that’s alright with you,” he said wistfully, turning to Atsumu, who held the stars and sun in his eyes. Atsumu knew exactly what he meant. Most people would denote him as talented or gifted. They’d see the results of his effort and say it must be something supernatural. But under the flashy saves and amazing sets, he was just another person. Same as anyone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kita.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu didn’t know what to say. He didn’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything to say. He just realized that he’s just Kita. And that in itself was mystifying, yet exciting. “I–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okonomiyaki!” The waiter arrived with all their dishes, handing them out one by one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that’s us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu deflated, all the wind having been taken from him by one word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand laid gently on his thigh. “Atsumu, later yea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu forced a painful swallow down his cotton dry throat. “Y-yea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the night went on without event. Well, as peacefully as these adult children could be, in Suna’s words as he documented the events of that evening. Between verbally fucking his boyfriend and gathering blackmail for later, he was pretty satisfied with how things were going. All things considered–those things being how he didn’t want to be there and Osamu only convinced him through the offer of trying pet play. And how could he say no to that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>surprise him was Atsumu’s lack of drinking, if that made sense. From Osamu’s accounts, he was always the first one to get hammered and make an ass of himself. Though tonight, he seemed the saint. Besides a mug or two, and even after a shot of sake (Osamu caved for his oafish brother) he mostly kept the drinking to a minimum. Though if he thought about it, being exposed the way he did was quite a sobering experience. He presumed that the last thing Atsumu wanted was to make a drunken confession in front of the team. Understandable. But still, what a sight that would’ve been. He could already see the memes now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rin, ya wanna hold up on that promise?” Osamu reeked of alcohol and too many dishes to count. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Geez</span></em> <em><span>this guy eats a lot. And </span></em><span>I’m </span><em><span>the professional athlete. Where the hell does it all go? </span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something else he learned was that he was no lightweight. He looked into Osamu’s eyes. A different kind of hunger burned behind his gaze. It yelled “</span>
  <em>
    <span>NOW.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey uh, ‘Samu and I are heading off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww, that’s too bad. It’s still early,” Aran lamented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad,” Atsumu piped up,  his cheeks stuffed to the brim. A few bits made it around the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu, don’t talk with yer mouth full,” Kita scolded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“M’sorry, I’ll–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita raised a napkin to his mouth and began cleaning the food that strayed. He pressed his thumb firmly into the napkin, almost wanting to commit the shape of the blonde’s mouth to memory. He tried not to indulge in the pinkness of his lips. He tried harder not to think about how soft they looked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You win this one, Atsumu</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Suna quietly declared his defeat in a one-sided battle  as he and his boyfriend rose to leave. A few more goodbyes and farewells saw them off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One day. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite mourning the departure of the couple, the remaining members slowly began to leave one by one. Paying their bills and promising a next time, they soon left Aran, Kita, and Atsumu. Aran was already stretching, physically announcing his plans to head home as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight you two. Kita, I’m sure you can keep him in line.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure,” Kita confirmed, giving Atsumu yet another soft grip to his thigh. The man couldn’t do it, he didn’t have enough blood in his body to blush </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But here he was, ears almost glowing with color.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Later.” And with that, he was off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready to go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yea,” he croaked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After doing their best to tidy the mess, they both paid their respective bills and headed for the exit. “How are ya gettin’ home?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just staying in a hotel for tonight, considering I live a little far out,” Kita hummed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez, how far out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I work on a farm, ‘Tsumu,” Kita laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yea, right.” He looked off to the side, trying to mentally run away from this conversation. “So how’s the uh, the farm?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Atsumu, you don’t know shit about farms ya ding dong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. Though I don’t think you’d be too into the technicality of it all. But it’s fine. I like it, so that’s enough for me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s good Kita, I’m happy fer ya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita turned to Atsumu, silently calling for the blonde’s attention. His eyes glowed, amber embers that reflected the night’s sky. A slow smile formed on his lips. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu was back in high school, having done his first perfect float serve. Kita nodded, acknowledging his days and weeks of hard work. Atsumu was in his second official match for prelims, giving the last serve for a match point. Kita dutifully clapped, praising him once more. Atsumu saved the ball during a thirty-five point deuce, helping get the ball over during a rally for finals. It was then he’d first heard those words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kita, why don’tcha spend the night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu I could ne–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya sure could! It’s only a night, right? If yer far out, it’s just better that ya don’t fall asleep or nothin’. I’m only thirty minutes from here. I don’t wanna–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine. Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu was just short of offering his arm in faux courtship. They walked in silence for the most of the way. Many words left unsaid were strung together to build tension into the thinnest of threads. Both too afraid to apply pressure for fear of breaking it. Fingers and hands twitched in want, anticipation, of desire. Nothing and everything was said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat together, silence holding their throats closed like molasses. They drowned in the fear of ruining the fabricated peace that was created. Atsumu’s hand clenched and unclenched, hinting at the chill felt by the air conditioning in the cart. Warm fingers met his, encasing his heart in comfort and anxiety. He thought so fast he couldn’t think. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stood at the station now, hand in hand. Nothing left but a short walk to Atsumu’s. “Uh, Kita–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu is it true?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Atsumu looked down into tan eyes, now sporting a small shine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That you still…” Kita fought against biting his lip, a nervous habit he’d lost long ago, but crept up on him in times of weakness. “That you still?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu flinched at the question, averting his gaze from inquiring eyes.Kita searched his face for answers that he was sure he already knew. He watched him shrink, now sporting his team jersey in the volleyball gym. Even as Atsumu found interest in all things that weren’t the man in front of him, Kita could see the boy standing before him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled softly. “You don’t have to answer that. Let’s just go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s just,--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu.” Kita raised his hand to silence him. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu let his shoulders drop, unclenching his jaw as he did so. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walked the rest of the way to Atsumu’s apartment, the blonde getting more antsy as the journey came to an end. Kita watched inquisitively, having the strong desire to just ask what was wrong. Atsumu, usually talkative and chatty, turned meek. Shying away from any extended conversation Kita tried to initiate. Kita began to regret the decision to take him up on the offer, feeling strangely out of place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Atsumu unlocked the door, could feel his hesitation as he turned the key. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, uh...so this is it.” He opened the door, showing a surprisingly living room. Kita saw a nice, mauve couch that sat in the center in front of a modest tv stand. Plants accented the area. Funny, he never took Atsumu for a plant guy. Maybe he would’ve understood the complicated ins and outs of rice farming. Never judge a book by its cover. The light from the nearby kitchen grabbed his attention, along with the call of– </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsu, come try this!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu sighed in half shame and fake exasperation. “Hey Omi!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you do?” the voice called back, agitation now riddling its tone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do I always gotta do somethin’, eh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa came walking around the corner, ladle in hand. “Well it doesn’t help when you– oh.” He locked eyes with the man standing beside Atsumu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, I dunno if you remember him, but he’s my–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kita-san, it’s nice to meet you again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to see you are well, Kiyoomi-kun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, </span>
  </em>
  <span>what</span>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I heard you started a rice farm, how is it for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita’s eyes widened for just a moment before they softened once more. “I didn’t know you kept up with that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard it from Aran.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold the phone! You two </span>
  <em>
    <span>know each other</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa looked at Atsumu with disdain, and just a bit of disappointment. The disappointment was mostly a projection of Sakusa’s own shortcomings. “No, actually, this is an elaborate roleplay scene. Yes I know Kita-san, numb nut.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi,” Atsumu pouted. He felt an arrow go right through his chest, blushing at his lack of knowledge regarding their shared history. Another one pierced his back as he heard a small chuckle from behind him. “Kita, not you too!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu, you are just as amusing as ever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s what you call it? I would use ‘annoying’, but to each his own.” Atsumu made a pained noise at the jab. “Kita-san–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kita is fine,” he corrected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa felt warm at the invitation to drop formalities. “Kita, could you try this and tell me if it needs anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Kita followed Sakusa to their kitchen, bathing in the aroma that wafted from the stove.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, be careful, Omi Omi can kill a man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, you brat!” came from around the bend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa led Kita to the stove, where various pots were sitting on each eye. He brought him over to the one he was most worried over in particular. He brought the ladle to a small bowl, allowing Kita to take a spoon for tasting. A small knot formed in his chest. Waiting on his opinion. On his approval. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa remembered Kita. He remembered him very well, in fact. Even in this moment, those familiar pressures rose from the grave. Though he rarely played, Kita’s presence on the court was unmatched. From the bench and waiting box itself, he could still feel the way he ruled the boundaries lined by white paint. His influence only increased even more so when he was subbed in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa admired the power he held over his team. Nothing forceful or unnecessary, just the natural respect they had for his character. His dedication to following routines, his immunity to the natural nerves, his level head in times of despair– it all served to make a captain to revere and an opponent to fear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa felt a taste of both and another feeling he’d tried to smother as Kita surveyed his curry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is bland.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And all these feelings died in a fiery crash along with his pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How? I spent hours on this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you’ve spent some time on this,” Kita interrupted, stepping in front of the stove Sakusa searched for answers. “Which is why I’m also surprised at the lack of flavor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa stepped back to give Kita room as he comfortably rummaged through their cupboards. “I see you have seasoning here. Did you use it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A high pitched wheeze escaped Atsumu, who was now clutching his gut, desperate not to keel over and die from laughing so hard. He could feel his eyes welling with tears as he did his best to not turn out into a full cackle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I assume you two live together, did you never think to teach him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita began surveying the various spices he found, selecting a few to move forward with. Sakusa watched from a comfortable distance, feeling small in his presence. “Kita, I don’t think–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, you can rest. I can tell you’re tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This earned another sputter from Atsumu, who was met with a glare from his partner and an unamused look from his captain. Or, ex-captain, he surmised quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, why ya lookin’ at me like that for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Sakusa deadpanned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like…” He gave a vague gesture in their direction. “Like I’m in trouble er somethin’!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, are you?” Sakusa cocked a brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu let out a quick breath and let his eyes flicker to the living room. “I dunno, kinda feel like it. Ha ha…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu’s blood ran cold as he met onyx eyes. Sakusa’s slightly lowered glower was a familiar harbinger of death. He swallowed painfully hard against an arid throat. Moments like these shrunk him under Sakusa’s heel. A small bean to be twiddled between his fingers. It scared him. It excited him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go shower.” He did his best to sound even as he made his way to their master bathroom, ignoring the small aching making itself present in his pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa sighed in exasperation as Atsumu disappeared around the corner. “I’m sorry,” he offered; not knowing exactly what for, but feeling it was needed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” Kita assured, putting the curry on low. He decided to leave the side dishes as they were, presuming it was the most logical to at least make the main dish...edible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. You didn’t have to, you’re our guest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” he comforted, washing and drying his hands in the sink before leaning against the counter. “So, how have you been?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa nearly choked on the sight of the casualty in Kita before him. Toned forearms relaxing against the countertop, fully capable of supporting the farmer’s weight. His shoulders had broadened a bit, from what he could remember. Not that Sakusa paid any attention in particular. It was just something he noticed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita’s hair, usually neat and parted into familiar triads, was just a bit more frizzled than any time Sakusa had seen it, even after entering the court. He assumed it was swept up in the wind of the cool, spring night. His shirt was still tucked in to well-fitted jeans, though a few loose corners threatened to spill over. His jeans did feit really nice…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he croaked. “I’ve been fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s good.” Just the smallest of smiles threatened to frame itself on Kita’s lips. “I’m not surprised to see you still in volleyball. You’ve always been one to go the distance. I’m proud of ya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa’s heart stopped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yoku ganbatta na.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lied to himself. Sakusa’s heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> stopped that time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those familiar words rattled around his brain like a pinball before dropping down and gripping his heart. The few times he’d heard it before had already made their marks on him, replaying like VCR tapes in his mind in times of doubt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembers the first time he’d heard it. Strung out after a hard-fought battle with skilled competitors, Sakusa had wanted nothing more than to wash away the evidence of the event. He’d felt the eyes of the captain from across the court, though the small twinge of the guilt wasn’t enough to challenge his overwhelming sense of self-pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was behind the arena on his way to the showers when he’d run into Kita. Face unwavering in a neutral expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kyou, yoku ganbatta na.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without waiting too long for a response, taking Sakusa’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes as an answer, Kita made his way back to his team. Leaving a confused, yet oddly elated Saksusa behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bluntness of his nature was something Sakusa could understand. The lack of frivolous language usually provided to stroke his ego. Just saying the necessary language pertinent to his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so began their (not ritual) ritual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whether in bouts with Sakusa’s favored Shiratorizawa, against particularly tough challengers, or even Inarazaki themselves. If Kita had seen the game, he’d been there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silent whisper of praise from a battle won, or a the gentle comfort of a match lost. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In short, Sakusa Kiyoomi was not okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If anything, having Kita Shinsuke in his kitchen right now made him even </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay than he was back then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, Kiyoomi. Get your shit together, you’re better than this! Say something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You too.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything but that! Who are you, Atsumu? It’s okay, we can fix this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His frustration dared to make itself visible, only to stop in its tracks at the sight before him. Kita was...laughing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe not in the traditional sense as Sakusa would describe it. A handful of chuckles on the brink of a snort with one hand covering his mouth. His shoulders shook gently with every exhale, giving life to use usual, almost robotic form. He almost looked…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long have you and Atsumu been living together?” he almost giggled. “You’re starting to sound just like him.” He regained composure with a soft expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What? I’m sorry, WHAT?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, not too long…” Sakusa choked out, searching for every brain cell he’d had left after suffering from extended exposure with his boyfriend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what the pictures say,” Kita playfully challenged, cocking his head towards their refrigerator. Their refrigerator with multiple couples photos of them out on various dates. The photos Sakusa put up one night after falling in love with Atsumu for the five hundred and twenty-five thousandth time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did Sakusa say he liked his blunt and straightforward nature? That was a lie. Sakusa was a liar. A part of him was waiting on the simulation to end and announce that he did a good job on a company’s newest virtual reality gaming system. Another part of him prayed that their kitchen actually sat atop a black hole and that it would reveal itself at this very moment. And a shameful part of himself, one that he beat back with a mental baseball bat, was hoping that Atsumu would magically reappear in the world’s fastest shower and save him from this conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he slowly worked his way through the five stages of grief, he heard what sounded like Kita’s voice from what sounded like thousands of miles away. Also known as about four or five kitchen floor tiles across from him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was the same way when I was talking to him earlier,” he mused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh? Huhhh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let ya off the hook, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Air was made readily available again, and Sakusa took a complimentary deep breath with a side of a sigh that loosened the tightness in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough about Atsumu-kun. Tell me, what kept ya in volleyball. Really?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa silently invited Kita to join him at the table. Kita was happy to oblige. Now, under the kitchen lights, he could see Sakusa more fully. He grew up well. His curls framed his face nicely–  covering a good deal of his face, but nothing of his beauty. Seemingly onyx eyes at first glance had a glint of emerald green around...were his pupils dilated? No, that’s the shots of sake talking now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Genki sou ka na,” slipped through his lips as Kita ran through his stream of consciousness. He would’ve been internally mortified if Sakusa hadn’t taken dibs first, turning a nice shade of strawberry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” was all the ebony could manage for a moment before remembering that, oh yea, Kita did ask him a question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One answer that was meant for a small introduction into the mind of Sakusa Kiyoomi gave life to new questions in turn. And through the circular pattern of ask and answer, conversation was made. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the food cooled and as minutes became hours, both had completely forgotten about the third member of their triad. Talking blissfully into the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Sakusa finally took the time to show Kita to the spare bedroom (not without putting the food away, despite it’s rather lackluster debut), he settled into bed with his boyfriend, already fast asleep. He could hear the shower running from the guest bathroom as he got in close to Atsumu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa swore that this was when he was the most peaceful. Though he even caused violence in his sleep as he burritoed in the blankets each night, leaving Sakusa to bear the cold. Sakusa learned to adjust and began snuggling into him each night to have access to the walls made of comforters and fleece. He was chest to back with Atsumu when he’d made it past the final layer. He could see his chest rise and fall with each gentle breath. For all it was worth, at least he didn’t snore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Sakusa wrapped his arm around Atsumu and interlaced their fingers, he realized that he liked </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He liked what they had. He liked having this Atsumu (and every Atsumu) to himself. In the twisted fate of irony, a little green monster sprouted within the depths of his heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was early. Too early. It wasn’t fair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu stay fast asleep, mouth slightly agape with the smallest hint of shine from the drool that escaped. When they first started dating, Sakusa cringed at the sight, dreading the day Atsumu was to ever fall asleep on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya don’t complain when we’re makin’ out!” he’d argue, pouting when Sakusa used to point it out to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa couldn’t lie, he had a point. But he refused to let him win. God, was he always this petty? “It’s different,” he’d respond, never having the guts to look him in the eye. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How </span>
  </em>
  <span>Omi? That’s like sayin’ you’d suck my dick but ya wouldn’t shower with me cause it feels weird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? That makes no sense, I’ve seen your dick before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And ya’ve seen my drool before so what’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After many “half-assed arguments” (as Atsumu would call them), Sakusa stopped complaining about it. At least outwardly. And nowadays, as they found themselves in something resembling domestic bliss, though quite askew, he found it rather cute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swore that last thought to secrecy within himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rose from the bed to bend and stretch in ways contortionists would give applause for, creating a cacophony of pops and clicks as his bones emptied the air between them. Once limber again, he made his way to the kitchen for a simple glass of water, its cooling elements relieving his cotton dry throat. After a few more glasses, he gathered his art supplies and made his way out to the familiar spot on the patio. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once set up, he stared at his current work in progress. That same damned mountainside. He looked fine. But he wanted it to look </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or just better than fine, at the very least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time escaped him as he delved into the painting once more, mixing various shades of greens and yellows and blues to get the lighting </span>
  <em>
    <span>just right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha paintin’?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A small voice startled him out of the zone, but nowhere near enough to make any noticeable movements in his brush. Atsumu’s frequent pop ups taught him to restrain any physical reactions to “above the elbow.” This was no different when Kita began his round of inquiries. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A mountainside. I’m practising landscapes,” he answered, delicately working on the grass away from the light source. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do ya like them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm, not particularly,” Sakusa hums as he pulls back to see the new view. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then why do you paint them?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa thought of his reasoning for a moment, never really quite thinking in depth about it himself. After a moment’s pause, he didn’t have much to say. “Because then I’ll know that I can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what happens when you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a breath as he pondered the answer, finally deciding on “Then I’ll just know. Is...is that weird?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kita chuckled gently, almost to himself. “No, it’s not weird. It’s fine just to want to know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They spent some time together in the regular melodies of the morning. A few birds chirped out to their chicks in one of the trees of their backyard. The low hum of morning traffic and speaking pedestrians  worked together to create a white noise in their comfortable silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa poked gently at the blanket of what seemed like familiar intimacy. “When I said you could stop by at any time last night, I meant it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is the one where i deleted 2.7k and rewrote the whole plot around khfoafhoiahf <br/>good times :,) <br/>anywho, it's much better now, and some of that stuff did manage to survive, though in a completely different context lol. if you want updates or just to ask questions or interact or whatever the fuck, im @u_suspend on twitter 030</p></blockquote></div></div>
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